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Vampyro Naktis {RP}

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George Rozas

George Rozas

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and unable to support his weight anymore. He fell to the ground with a grunt, only just catching himself before his head smacked stone. The knight rose, his body feeling stiff - his aches dull and the rubble digging into the flesh of his feet barely noticeable. Wild hair fell into his vision - how long had it been?

Another rumble that shook the walls broke his thoughts again. His cell door was still closed, yet it did not look as sturdy as it may have once been. Gritting his teeth Hadrian braced and charged it, slamming his shoulder into the door with a loud grunt. It burst open sending him sprawling onto the ground outside of the cell, surprised it had given way after only a single strike. Perhaps it was even less sturdy than he had thought.

He rose up to his feet once again, steadying himself on the wall and taking in his immediate surroundings - the sights did not encourage him. More cells, corridors that turned corners and a whole host of grisly instruments that made him wonder if he had awoken in the torture chamber of hell itself. Many of the cells appeared empty, others he couldn't tell - for another sight caught his attention before he could check further. A figure blurring down the corridor, a blade at their side and hands outstretched - a vicious snarl on their face that showed pointed fangs.

All of Hadrian's aches and thoughts died away in the face of a foe he recognized, replaced with anger. The Vampire closed in with inhuman speed, but the knight found himself more ready for this fight than he'd ever been.

" Bloodbag out of its cell? Good - I needed a snack- " Came the rough voice of the vampire before it was stopped abruptly by said bloodbag matching its own lunge. This seemed to catch the vamp off guard as Hadrian barrelled into it, the vampire's hands batted away as he tackled the monster to the ground and laid a brutal series of punches down into its face. Each punch fell like a hammerblow, breaking bones, splitting skin and spraying blood I am Inferi.

25-Sep-2019 20:28:37 - Last edited on 25-Sep-2019 22:55:08 by George Rozas

Azi Demonica

Azi Demonica

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Amidst the echoing clamour outside, a hoarse voice shouted aloud. Interior damages allowed a motley set of prisoners free...

Sometime after Hadrian picked himself up and set off to confront a vampire, some big guy fell like a log, “AHWWAH.” If Hadrian’s weight broke his chains, then a much larger, heavier man had no problem with them, either.

Some dust fluttered down around as the tall, burly Viking got up and brushed himself off. "Well, looks like the Forest of Death hasn’t changed at all after so many years! This has to be Castle Gern.” He ran to the arrow slits and damaged section of the dungeon to take a look out.

Outside, siege engines pummeled the fortifications with big boulders, though the burly man did not seem to care!

He stuck his arm out the arrow slit, “Áfram með ykkur! Áfram með ykkur! Til Orrustu!” Perhaps his cheers for the attackers would have some effect on their morale, but whoever these attackers were... Well, the enemy’s enemy is your friend.

25-Sep-2019 23:01:23 - Last edited on 25-Sep-2019 23:04:56 by Azi Demonica

George Rozas

George Rozas

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across the stones - the furious assault of bare knuckles surprising even the man who threw them.

The Vampire attempted to throw him off, twisted nails scratching at his flesh as it tried to find purchase - but each of Hadrian's punches shook the creature to its core, more and more blood splattering the stone until the vampire's once elegant features had been reduced to the contents of a crushed melon. The knight stared down at his handiwork and blood coated fists, the heat of the vampire's blood seeming to sizzle against his cold skin - and he stood once more.

" What... Has happened to me? " He quietly asked himself. Never before had his fists had such an impact, turning a vampire's head to mulch? Beyond him. Beyond any ordinary person. But once again there would be a time to determine why he could do such a thing, for out of the corner of his eye he spotted a chest with the glint of metal stickign out. He walked over to it, finding weapons and clothing - little better than rags, but more than his bare body had. He dressed himself with dark trouseres and a shirt, briefly lingering on the scar across his heart - he almost felt he knew, but thinking was not for now. From the chest he grasped a heavy looking sword, double edged and cruelly built - a vampire's weapon, but it would serve its purpose in his hand.

With little choice he picked a direction - and he started to move. I am Inferi.

25-Sep-2019 23:05:25

Inferi

Inferi

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Well, this was new. Those on the outside had always resisted the vampires, but the castle had never come under siege as it was now. At least, not in her unlife. They had always been too cowardly, having little impact other than to survive and pass their burdens on to future generations. It was as futile as her own attempts, the only difference being that they were not shackled by the curse that she had fallen victim to so many years ago.

But now, they had decided to actually fight. Was it desperation, or did they actually believe that that could succeed? The first option would be unfortunate if true, as those still themselves were weaker now than ever. Centuries of being taken over had taken its toll, and she knew well how many people had been brought in over that time.

If it was the second, though...well, that would be much more interesting. Powerless though she knew she was to fight her forced family alone and unable to seek out those that resisted for many reasons, it would be different if they came here, and if they had the strength to end all that had destroyed her and her home.

Yet no matter the case, this had taken too long. The dwindling strength of Sudovia as a whole, combined with the increasing strength of the oppressors, left very little hope of anything happening. The vampires had won; they had won long ago. Humans, elves, and the other races, they were fading away. Their decline appeared to be slow but inevitable, and their gasping efforts to remain above the water only reminded her of belligerent hope that she had once held in her once-beating heart.

It was perhaps this that she hated most of all; the inability to simply let go of that last spark of hope. For five centuries she had watched what might have been her home destroyed even as she descended deeper into the darkness, and yet that minor spark of rebellion that had planted itself somewhere in the arena refused to simply give up and die. Done in by the dubious doings of destiny.

27-Sep-2019 00:16:57

Inferi

Inferi

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She knew it would be easier, knew she might actually find a life that she did not hate, if she simply gave up, but her mind refused to allow them to cool those final embers.

Any further musings were cut short by the tremendous impact of something hitting the nearby walls, the tremors forcing her to steady her own stance lest she lose her balance. A mirthless smile crept across her features, since even if this was little more than a momentary show of force it was sure to annoy someone that she didn’t like. It remained to be seen whether this might be useful, but that would surely become clear soon enough. Perhaps someone would actually have to pay for everything...and perhaps she might be able to destroy them as they deserved.

Ignoring any call to defend that might arise, Lia quickly moved to fetch her own armaments. The bladed gauntlets were one of the many things she did not let go of from her initial combat training centuries before, but were also one of the few things that actually served a practical purpose. Newer versions had been crafted when the old had become unusable, but they always retained the same form and function. Her armor was light, a suit of black chain that allowed her to move easily, and it was made specially to mesh with the full-arm nature of her gauntlets.

With everything useful obtained, she started to move, although her path, for the moment, had no real destination other than to remain clear of the heaviest combat zones. She would have no chance to avoid a fight there, and if she wanted to do anything that involved the Sudovian attackers - as that is who she assumed was there - her first appearance would have to matter. She was what they hated, after all. Done in by the dubious doings of destiny.

27-Sep-2019 00:17:08

Demither10

Demither10

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Name: Vyrl [VIE-ruhl]

Race: Vampire, formerly a Drow.

Age: 764 (597 at the time of "death&quot ;)

Gender: Male

Weapon: A dagger hidden in each sleeve, though he'd truly hate to use either one.

Magic: Vyrl's obsession with necromancy is his primary weapon, though his hexes have become reasonably powerful since he joined the vampires.

Apperance: Vyrl stands just shy of six feet tall. His shoulder-length black hair is lightly streaked with white, a stark contrast to his grey skin and blue eyes. Everything about Vyrl is slight; his muscles are far from prominent, his fingers almost delicate. His dress is typically modest; dark blues, greens, and purples stain the robes he prefers. While not technically a cleric, he enjoys dressing as one, and so typically does, just in case it offends.

Personality: Even among his own people, Vyrl's sociopathic tendencies are notable. From a young age, he was drawn to the art of necromancy, an obsession born from the only thing Vyrl truly fears: death; the darkness that is inevitable for all. His desperate need to understand it as much as possible makes up the core of his personality. In a fight, Vyrl will launch hordes of undead at his foes before coming close to the fray himself; why risk something as permanent as death over something that another could die for? Vyrl is cold and calculated, never one to take unnecessary risks or to shy away from sacrificing another. He wants to live forever -- what he does with that eternity is a question for another day. In his view, he rather won the genetic lottery seven hundred years ago, and he takes enormous pride in his vampyric-drow immortality, and the achievements he's made -- in his own view -- to the field he so adores.

Of course, he knows he can never truly win this fight; but the desire to accomplish the impossible is, paradoxically, what drives Vyrl in life, what makes him the happiest, and what drives him to fight on... with as little risk to his person as possible, of course.

28-Sep-2019 03:55:48

Demither10

Demither10

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Bio: Born in darkness, die in darkness. That’s always how it goes, is it not? For Vyrl, the decision to leave his underground home was the crucial first step towards the light, such as it is. His life has long been defined — by himself — as a paradoxical fascination with his greatest fear: with death. From a young age, Vyrl threw himself into necromancy, devouring anything and everything he could find to learn about it with frightening voracity. He would speak with the dead more than the living, and, as years passed, his need to understand death isolated him from his home. By his four hundredth birthday, he was alone. His friends had long since abandoned him, his family made no mention of him to any. Furious, cold, alone, Vyrl at last ascended to the surface, vowing never to return to his home or people.

And so he met the vampires.

It was a long time still before Vyrl would at last concede and join the undead; his own fears kept him away for some time. But the union was inevitable; vampires are simply the better necromancers. Vampires are stronger, and their magics are better. Vampires are dead — but they are not dead at the same time. Perhaps most importantly? Vampires don’t care if you’re a sociopathic necromancer with an obsession with the undead, just so long as you can be polite about it. Vyrl’s adoption of the graceful, elegant way of life the vampires was inevitable in any case, but he does love their company. Not that he wouldn’t burn them all to the ground if it helped him to achieve his own ends, of course, but that’s another good thing about Vampires. Most of them would understand.

Right?

28-Sep-2019 03:55:55

Azi Demonica

Azi Demonica

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Amidst the siege, by sheer luck, Sakura had the opportunity to free herself. As unluck would have it, though, the provided circumstances did not work, and she remained shackled against the wall. But she awoke, her senses came back, and an ominous hum softly echoed.

Raspy breathing scraped out her throat. With an inhale both hoarse and sharp, faintly glowing, spiritual masks hovered about. The masks’ mouths moved in strange motions, as if they spoke. Sakura’s shackles glowed and she broke them apart. She landed weakly and fell to her hands and knees.

“Motto... motto da. Motto, motto da.” She got up and unblinkingly walked off.

Since nobody seemed to notice or react to her, she may have made her escape at another time. She walked rather quickly, gait feminine despite such a muscular body. She sought her axe and mask, and other belongings.

28-Sep-2019 21:00:45

Demither10

Demither10

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"Fascinating. Purely fascinating. They really do seem to just be trying to save them." Vyrl's soft words to his one true companion in life juxtaposed strongly with the distant sound of screams, of shattered glass -- of battle. The once-dead bird of prey that circled the room around him gave no indication that it understood, but that was hardly a reason not to try.

"I suppose there is some worth in choosing to die for one's own cause, if one was doomed for such in any case," he continued, heedless of the distant chaos, "but still... fascinating." Those who killed and those who died fought on, but Vyrl's attention was largely fixed on the dungeon below him, where the fighting seemed to be strongest.

"How many of them will die, and how many will they save, do you think?" The bird gave a hoarse cry in response, a sound that may once have been impressive, but was now simply wind whistling through bone. Vyrl's eyes narrowed -- had the bird understood the question?

Night, but there were more important things to focus on -- attack, death, war. How many times had he said? An unbroken spirit will rebel; they always do. He certainly had, and from the looks of things, would again, sometime soon. Hordes of undead were swarming the fortress -- so Vyras was almost certainly here, and the vampires were perhaps slightly less assured of victory than usual. Oh, they would win -- they always did. But that was no reason to suffer unnecessary wastes.

He shook his head roughly. Now was not the time for musing, now was not the time for curiosity. He knelt down, placing his left hand on the floor, seeking the dead beneath his feet, willing them into the conflict above. Above him, the bird screamed. Below, the dead stirred, fought, died again and again and again. He scowled; it was a waste of energy to produce sentries for vampires, but he could hardly risk the fighting coming his way. He concentrated, deeper -- they were dungeons, after all, there had to be bodies there.

29-Sep-2019 03:13:23

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